Promise
by hikari yuuko
Summary: [SS] Syaoran returned to Hong Kong. The only thing he can think about is the promise made to Sakura. He'd promised to go back. He would fulfill that promise someday. REPOST


**Promise**

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**Written by:** hikari yuuko -adriana santomé-

**Date:** April 6th, 2004.

**A/N:** I just waited too long to write something like this. I love this couple, too much. I love Syao-kun!! And after re-reading my manga for the nth time, I was wondering… what happened when Syao-kun went back to Hong Kong? What was Syao-kun thinking at the time? And this came up! I hope you enjoy this! Please, remember to **review**!!

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His chest pounds loudly as he makes a circular motion with his sword. He stops to catch his breath and, suddenly, he drops his weapon. Taking a step backwards, he sighs heavily as he plops on his bed. The silver blade crashes against the cold floor abruptly; and the metallic thud reverberates in the air. The young warrior breaths slowly, in long gaps, the oxygen filling his longs fully. He raises a hand over his face and he watches his fingers move, chestnut bangs obscuring his vision. The hand falls limply to his side. He sighs, yet again, only to growl in anger. This is not how he used to be! He doesn't worry about things like this…

But he has changed, hasn't he?

She changed him.

The sparkling, emerald eyes appear in his mind and he shakes his head to erase such thoughts as he blushes madly. God, _now_ he is blushing! The auburn curls, the happy smile… Her cheerful attitude, her fright to ghosts, her beautiful strength.

_Stop it, k'so! _

He couldn't… he shouldn't be thinking of her. He promised himself so. For his peace of mind… and for hers… He shouldn't think of her. It would only make things more difficult.

Yet, ever since he left her in Japan, him inside that bus taking him to the airport, her standing there as the bus marched away… there hasn't been a day that he doesn't think of her, how she's doing, what is she feeling, if she remembers their unsaid promise. Because, he knows, when they said goodbye their eyes held a promise of seeing each other again one way or another. She promised she'd wait for him. He promised her to return…

He _would_ fulfill that promise.

But Tokyo is so many miles away from Hong Kong, she is so many miles away from him. Sometimes he has the impulse to leave everything and go back to Japan and… _No,_ he can't go back, _not yet_. He has a duty here, a duty as the heir of his clan, a duty he can't forget about.

The boy turns his head to his right, and his eyes fall on the desk next to the window, where the winged bear lays peacefully. The pink, stuffed toy looks back at him, and it feels like a silent exchange was done when he suddenly stands up. He walks towards the wooden desk and stops in front of it, his amber orbs never leaving the bear. Letters with pretty, clean Japanese calligraphy on them rest near it, some falling out of their white envelopes.

He picks up the stuffed bear, its wings sawn together with silver thread, the fabric soft against his calloused hands. He hugs it against his chest, near to his heart. He also picks one of the letters, the one with the rosy cherry blossom drawn at the corner of the sheet, the most recent letter. He re-reads it once or twice and smiles absentmindedly. She seems to be fine.

He looks at the window, his young face reflected on it. Through the transparent glass he notices that the skies have obscured suddenly. He leaves the letter with the pile of them. His hand touches the glass as the first raindrop hits its surface on the outside. Soon, many other water drops follow the first until the rain falls heavily. The sounds of the roaring winds don't seem to bother him as he walks back to the desk and pulls out his chair.

He places the bear on the top shelf and sits on the chair with a soft thud. In one of the drawers, he searches for pen and paper. A thunder crashes as he closes it, his hands almost gripping the handle. He pauses a second before he starts writing and answer letter in the neatest handwriting he can manage. He had never been too good with Chinese kanji, even to his mother's displease, but when it came to Japanese letters… he was a total chaos.

He writes about how he's getting along with his classmates, his health, the football team… Everything she asked about… He writes that his mother said hello and was praying for her well-being. He remembers also the swimming contest he had participated a week ago and the martial arts convention next month, and he scribbles a couple of lines about it. He says he'll call her next weekend, probably after his meeting with the elders at noon.

Sure, they both had phones, but with things like these, that seemed so trivial, letters where much more appropriate for they could spend the hours they liked wring down. When they called each other, on the few times they managed permission for long-distance calls, they would spend their little time in comfortable, much deeper conversations.

He jots down a few more thoughts on the paper, then he goes asking back the same old questions, only hoping she doesn't get tired of this…

How is she doing, is her father doing any better from the cold, is she progressing with the music class. 'Cause certainly, he hasn't. He _hates_ the stupid flute. He also asks about the cheering squad, the yellow, loudmouthed stuffed toy, and her baka brother. _Wait…_ erase stupid. She hates it when he calls her brother a baka.

He doesn't forget to ask her about her cousin; the always smiling, amethyst-eyed match-maker. He had seen her on TV about two weeks ago. It had been in a conference she had assisted to with her mother, something about their company's latest product and their vision for future expansion in China or something like that.

He tells her that he misses her, and that he's going to try to make a quick visit the next winter break for Christmas. He goes on, rambling about the weather and writing some more thoughts on the paper until he finishes.

At last he signs the letter, the kanji drawn in perfect, straight lines. His brows knit together as he ends the final character. His name is what he carries with most honor, he would at least, write it perfectly.

And a P.S. He'll always love her. And… _uh_, he dreams about her too.

He sighs, as he seems to be doing a lot lately, and folds the paper neatly and puts it inside the envelope.

He allows himself to add a picture of himself too. In it, he is sitting on a rock, Hong Kong bay's beach behind him, the waves rocking gently. His feet are bare against the beach's floor, his feet digging in white sand; his lips are curved into a soft, small, small smile. _For her only…_

Then again, she _had_ sent a picture of her and their friends in one of her letters. She was smiling brightly for him, and he knew. He had it framed and kept it in his night stand ever since. He turns to look at it for a moment…

He hears someone knocking at his door. So he turns around on his chair and lets the person in. It is one of his cheery sisters, who pops her head through the door, the long, red-brown curls framing her face, and tells him that dinner is ready. He nods and says he'll go down in a minute.

He seals the envelope after writing the proper address.

_Tomoeda, Tokyo…_

_Japan… _

He'll take the letter to the post office early in the morning tomorrow, before he goes to school. He drops the black-ink pen on the desk and stands up from his chair, letter in hand. He looks outside; the storm seems to be diminishing.

He looks up at the top shelf and meets the bear's eyes once again, his amber ones softening at doing so. Careful not to get wrinkles on the paper he is holding ever lightly, he picks the stuffed bear. He embraces it softly, feeling her there just for a moment, his heart beating at a slow pace. He remembers her fully, her bright smile; her frightened sobs, her joyful laughter; her quiet crying on his shoulder; the worried words; and her invincible spell.

Sighing again, he walks to his bed and leaves the winged-bear and the letter on top of it, the bright pink fabric and the whiteness of the envelope contrasting with the blue navy comforter. He stands there, still. His eyes fixed on both objects. Shaking his head, he goes to the door and opens it to let himself out. Looking over his shoulder, he watches the bear fall with a small thud, the small eyes shining with the night lamp's reflected light.

He closes the door behind him, not before promising himself to go back someday.

He'll go back. He'll finish his job as the Clan heir. He'll end his duty here and go back to Japan, as he vowed to her before he left. He'll earn his freedom and he'll go back to her.

He'll go back, for himself… for her.

_He'll go back to her._


End file.
